


Thank You for Wanking

by no-me-malone (queenallyababwa)



Series: We Might Burn But We Might Get Saved [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Background Aziraphale/Crowley, Beelzebub Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Gabriel Has a Penis (Good Omens), Gabriel and Beelzebub have an Arrangement (for sex), Light Dom/sub, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Pornography, Post-Canon, Teasing, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22047691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenallyababwa/pseuds/no-me-malone
Summary: As part of their Arrangement, Beelzebub and Gabriel meet around the world to have sex. As much as that has worked out for them, Beelzebub learns that, even over the course of 6000 years, Gabriel has never actually made much of an Effort for himself. And what is a Prince of Hell to do other than tempt their lover?Pornography and teasing ensue.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: We Might Burn But We Might Get Saved [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587514
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations





	Thank You for Wanking

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't get a lot of writing done in 2019, due to a busy schedule and lack of inspiration. However, did get into 'Good Omens' last month and this happened? 
> 
> I could have written my inaugural fanfiction on the Ineffable Husbands, a basically canon and wholesome ship. But then I decided to write about these morons; we love a crack ship taken too seriously.

The stench of french fries and hamburgers, Gabriel decided, was possibly one of the most revolting human smells. Food had never been appealing to him, but pungent foods with scents that lingered and clung to clothes were one he particularly didn’t care for. But he’s willing to put that aside to meet in-plain-sight secret with the Prince of Hell. 

They were meeting this time in the United States, in New York, where Beelzebub had work to do. Gabriel did not have work on Earth but got an email with: “Meet me in NYC. B.” (There was a second, more clarifying email, with the time and location. But Gabriel had already said ‘Sure.’)

He followed because he’s finding slowly, he can’t resist the demon. Perhaps it’s because of the year of commiserating and then, certainly, copulation, but even with the complicated netting of carnal activity, the archangel has enjoyed been drawn too close to the Lord of the Flies. Even if it does mean being among humans being here in this. . . tacky diner. 

The interior is entirely bright red and chrome. The tile on the floor is checkered. The waitstaff is dressed in all black, save for white aprons tied around their waists. The music that filters through the sound system hits from a bygone era. It’s not exactly the Ritz.

He sits across from Beelzebub in a stick, vinyl booth. Beelzebub has a spread of veritable … gross matter … in front of them with a stacked burger, crinkle-cut fries, and a strawberry milkshake. Meanwhile, Gabriel is only nursing a glass of lemon water, because the waitress looked at him strangely when he said he didn’t want anything. 

The food had been just dropped off, and the demon looks at the feast with relish as they reach for the ketchup bottle next to a small radio on the table. (“A jukebox,” Beelzebub called it, as they, while they waited on their meal, tucked coins into its slot and selected the same song repeatedly.)

“You never told me why we’re here,” Gabriel comments. For the past twenty minutes or so, they talked about Times Square, (“I take it your bunch had a hand in that.” “Oh yeah. We’re pretty proud of that one.”) about what the archangel had seen in Times Square. (“Those costumes…” “The demon Moloch received a promotion for them.”) dinner, and jukeboxes.

“As in here, in this diner?” Beelzebub drawls, reaching for a napkin as well and tucking it under the wide plate.

“No, I mean here here,” Gabriel clarifies. “In New York.”

“Recognition to Asmodeus for his work on a prominent and beloved television show host,” Beelzebub says, plainly as they shake the ketchup bottle onto the side of their french fries. “Made an absolute mess. It’s all people are talking about here, causing a lot of controversy. It was quite the domino effect of evil.”

“Couldn’t you have just called them back to Hell?” He asks, still not quite sure why Beelzebub needed to be here. 

“Sometimes, you have to witness something like this yourself,” Beelzebub says with a shrug as they close the bottle and set it aside. “I went to the press conference earlier today with him. It’s been truly impressive. He gets a plaque, too.” They pop a fry in their mouth, and then they add, “Asmodeus, that is. The newscaster's getting fired.”

“Hell seems like it goes all out with this sort of recognition,” Gabriel notes. 

“Not all the time. But you know, since we’re not working towards the War anymore, we’re putting more acknowledgment into mass chaos than before.” They grab their burger and take a bite, lettuce spilling from the bun and onto the plate. “What about Heaven?”

“We have a presentation next week about more substantial reconstruction, but that sounds like what we’re going for,” he admits. He looks around the diner. It’s busy, humming like a hive with chatter, forks and knives clinging, and old-fashioned music, but he’s still afraid that someone will overhear. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking business here.”

“You really think the humans are listening in to our conversations?” Beelzebub scoffs. “New York is the best place to do anything without anyone noticing.”

(Gabriel hadn’t changed his eye color while on Earth. Sometimes if he wandered too small in the world, into villages or hamlets, actually interacting with humans, someone would ask where he got his colored contacts. But in New York, no one seemed to bat an eye at the shockingly violet irises.(

“But still -” Gabriel’s eyes dart to the couple in the booth across from them, sharing an order of onion rings.

Beelzebub stuffs the lettuce back into the bun of the burger.

“Fine. No business. So, what about business?” They lean over, smirk, and took a long sip of the strawberry milkshake. 

“We probably shouldn't talk about that here, either,” Gabriel murmurs. 

“I thought the express purpose of you coming down here was to have sex with me,” Beelzebub says. They take three fries, dip them in the ketchup and tear through them all. 

Gabriel stiffens because it's the truth. They've been making this Arrangement (absolutely deserving of a capital letter; there had been a contract and a conference room discussion in the process of drawing up the terms of their affair) for a while now, where one or another books a hotel room in some city or another for a day or a weekend. They didn’t have to be accounted for or be an intrusion in one another’s world. They could forget that they were an archangel of Heaven and a duke of Hell. They both simply were.

(He was starting to see some of the appeal that Earth had for Aziraphale and the demon Crowley. Even if he hated the thought that they had been copulating all those years, he was a hypocrite now.)

“It was,” he admits.

(But maybe he’s just not in it for the sex. Not anymore.)

With a sly smirk, Beelzebub leans their head into their hand, black hair brushing their shoulder, putting on the wiles of their human corporation. “You don’t know how lonely I’ve been down there. I can barely keep my hands off myself, thinking about you. Dagon nearly caught me in my office -”

“Yourself?” Gabriel parrots, confused. 

Beelzebub’s eyebrows knit as they snap up in their seat, alert to Gabriel not following them. “Yeah…. You know, touching myself.”

“How-” Sexual effort, as Gabriel knew it, took two to tango. 

“Masturbation.” 

Oh.

Gabriel was not actually quite clear on the concept. At least, he was familiar with it. He had attended Orientation in The Beginning; he knew how it worked. He just didn’t know that other celestial beings - occult or ethereal - actually made the Effort if not with another celestial being. Or at least, in over 6000 years, nobody had brought it up. It wasn’t exactly a conversation you had in a professional setting. 

“You - make an Effort for yourself when I’m not around?” Gabriel asks, slowly.

Beelzebub crocked their head again. “You don’t?”

He doesn’t or at least, didn’t. “And you -”

“At least twice a day,” they laugh.

Gabriel takes a sip of his water before he realized what he was doing. 

“It’s curious you’ve been around for six millennia and you’ve never made an Effort for yourself?”

Gabriel shrugs. “It just never occurred to me to try anything like that.” Before Beelezebub, he hadn’t had much in the way of sexual satisfaction. Fraternizing with other angels could only lead to awkwardness, anxious glances around the office. The reputation of the Annunciation hadn’t exactly helped either. He settles, “I don’t have much time for . . . that.”

“I’m sure the Archangel Fucking Gabriel can have people cover him,” Beelzebub says. “Although, from what I remember of it, I don’t think your Office was in much supply of pornography.”

“No,” he says. He was familiar with the concept and had, at Sandalphon’s suggestion, announced his intent on buying some in Aziraphale’s bookshop. (Because that’s what human males did, right? Buy pornography? And as a human male-shaped entity, he had been trying to blend in.)

“Interesting.” Beelzebub’s arm raises up as they leaned out of the bench of the booth and made a motion with two fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting the bill, obviously,” they said, blue eyes darting back to Gabriel. (God, those blue eyes. The reminder of their former divinity.) 

The waitress notices from across the small diner and heads for their table.“I have plans for tonight and we’ve got placed to be,” Beelzebub states. Grinning to themself, they grab their burger and take a large bite. 

***

“You know, this whole place used to be nothing but pure pornography,” Beelzebub remarks as they brisk through the crowds of Times Square, back to where they booked a hotel room. Their hands are stuffed in their oversized dark grey wool coat, bright red scarf looped around their neck. They’re leading Gabriel, much more adapt to the cramped and busy streets. (From his visits to Hell’s Office, it was just like this. But somehow Hell smelled better.) “It was all X-rated movie theatres.”

Gabriel dodges a couple posing with an unnerving snowman mascot, eyeing the grimy and poor quality of the costume. He asks, over the blaring noise of New York, “Was that your doing?”

“Not back then,” Beelzebub replies. “But the renovations certainly were.”

That made sense. 

Eventually, Beelzebub leads the two of them to quieter streets, away from the buzz of tourists. It’s still quite crowded as New York in the winter always is, but it’s nowhere near the stress that the heart of the city is. 

The hotel they’re staying at is a regular haunt of theirs (they have human haunts now, apparently) and the concierge merely thinks they’re a normal couple, visiting for the suburbs for a weekend of fun in town. However, before they reach the familiar avenue, they pop into a bodega for unspecified but surely nefarious reasons, given the smirk playing at the corners of Beelzebub’s lips as they pull themselves from the cold into the coffee-stenched hole-in-the-wall. 

While they’re inside, Gabriel’s eyes wander the towering stands of colorful packaging of foodstuffs whereas the Prince of Hell, as if on a mission, goes directly to the magazine rack in the back corner. Gabriel meanders over towards the demon, growing bored of examining chip bags, who is plucking publications that are wrapped in black packaging.

“I have no idea what you’re into,” the Lord of Flies admits. “Porn is personal.”

Gabriel murmurs. He wasn’t sure what he was into, exactly. Over their time together, they had been experimental with their corporations, different combinations for when the mood struck them. Gabriel typically prefer a penis for himself and Beelzebub often has a vulva, but some of the best times were when they both shared the same Effort. 

“What about kinks?” Beelzebub asks. 

“Uhhh…” Gabriel tries to think if there was anything that particularly enticed him. The thrill of having sex with Beelzebub, Prince of Hell, Lord of the Flies, over their desk, paperwork thrown aside, was something, he assumed, that could not be replicated in pornography. 

Beelzebub smirks. “Vanilla it is, then.”

In the end, the demon sets down three magazines, a packet of SnoBalls, and a can of RedBull onto the counter. The cashier looks at the variety of the purchases, and Beelzebub gives a hellish grin. The cashier, startled, rings it all up and puts it in a blue plastic bag. 

***

They’re in the hotel room again. Beelzebub had checked in earlier and as the two celestial beings breezed through the lobby, they were met with a smile from the concierge person behind the desk along with a small nod. They really were becoming regulars. 

Beelzebub’s room is a penthouse, a view parallel to the surrounding skyscrapers and looking down at the winter glow of New York City, though the blare of horns and sirens still managed to be heard even from so far up. 

There’s a small, beaten-up suitcase on the desk when Gabriel walks through the door, its contents spilled out. Various clothing that looks enough like Beelzebub’s stately demonic attire, but just Earthly enough to not raise suspicion, sit next to a laptop and a six-pack of Guinness. 

“You here long?” Gabriel asks, motioning to the luggage. 

“Just another day or so,” Beelzebub tells him, shrugging off the wool coat and the red scarf, tossing in the pile. “Then I have some business in London.”

Gabriel whistles lowly. “You’re avoiding Soho?”

“Like the plague,” they supply. They look into the mirror over the desk and brush their fingers through their dark hair. 

They had, once while meeting in London for a night, run into the traitors. There was an immediate swell of celestial energy as they walked down the street of the trendy neighborhood, and then they saw the duo at an outdoor cafe, the angel enjoying a dessert with rapture while the demon watched intently behind a single cup of coffee. 

And if the archangel and the prince could feel the sudden presence of other entities, Aziraphale and Crowley could as well. 

Beelzebub and Gabriel had rushed down the sidewalk as they felt demonic eyes behind sunglasses on them from across the way. 

“It’s in Notting Hill,” Beelzebub says, pulling their cell phone out from inside the deep pockets of their coat. “And I will barely be there a few hours.” They check the device for any sort of hellish notification before quickly shuttering it back to sleep. “So. Let’s get down to it, shall we?”

It was not the romantic segway that would have been conventional for this, but going straight to the chase had been what had been so attractive about their Arrangement. The clambering, immediate need of one another. 

Gabriel immediately falls into his role and wraps Beelzebub into an urgent kiss, clamoring for their touch. But the demon doesn’t seem to agree and pulls back. The archangel looks quizzically down at them.

“This is your work,” Beelzebub states, plainly. “I’m not going to touch you.” They pause. Smirk. “Not yet, at least.”

They stand back, creating a gap, and Gabriel suddenly feels naked, although he hasn’t taken even his lavender grey overcoat off. He stares down at the smaller being, at their playful eyes hidden behind dark bangs. 

“I don’t want this,” Beelzebub says with mirth and Gabriel isn’t sure what they're trying to get out of him. But he notices that the Prince of Hell is in a commander stance, in a way that’s deserving of their title, hands behind their lithe back and feet firmly planted. 

They continue to reveal their purpose for all this play: “I want to see you wrecked by the temptation of humans,” Beelzebub states. “I want you to get off to their forms, not mine.”

Over their time, Gabriel had learned just how much the Prince loved to be worshipped; at one point they had been something like a deity to humans. That was, of course, long ago and far away. But now there was nothing that Beelzebub loved more than the angel praising their corporation, murmuring idolatry as he thrusts into their wet heat. 

But even more than that was the desire to be obeyed. 

(Although Gabriel is sure that this isn’t going to interest him in the slightest. For millennia, he didn’t give human beings the slightest of sexual though; they were merely markers for his accounting. Business as always, nothing personal.)

But Beelzebub, the diplomat they can be, is willing to offer negotiation. 

“If you do that for me, I’ll be sure to make it worth your while,” Beelzebub offers. 

And Gabriel has to agree. 

Beelzebub clicks their tongue, cocking their head. “Strip for me,” they command. 

Gabriel obeys the Prince of Hell and takes off his overcoat, placing it neatly over the desk’s chair. Off goes the scarf, blazer, socks, shoes, and a collared shirt, until he’s standing in finely tailored trousers, looking uncertain. They had never really discussed what Efforts to use this time around, so he decides to keep what he already has. He undoes his belt, pops the button and unzippers the fly of the pants, and grips both the waistband of his trousers and boxers. He pulls them both off and lays them back over the chair. 

Gabriel stands in his well-maintained corporation before Beelzebub. Hands un-cross from behind their back and ghost his arms, centimeters hovering above Gabriel’s skin, but enough to make his hair stand on its end. Beelzebub’s eyes fall to the unaroused cock. Their smile is genuine as they snap their fingers and the chair, fashioned from deep orange upholstery, is miracled from its spot by the window in front of the bed. 

“Sit.”

“Without a towel?” Gabriel asks, eyeing the seat of the chair. 

Beelzebub huffs. Another snap of their fingers and there is a towel draped over the seat.

“Well, that’s better,” Gabriel says, and follows the demon’s command. 

Beelzebub opens the bag from the bodega and pulls the three magazines from inside. The covert casing of each is torn away before being set on a side table that miracles itself next to the chair. 

“So, what do you want me to do now?” Gabe asks as he spreads his legs. In this sort of thing - actually, with most things - Beelzebub likes to take command. 

Beelzebub looms over him, hands to their place behind their back, and the Prince gives the angel a look. (Those eyes, again. Gabriel feels himself shiver from how, while still so icey, they remind him of the river of Eden.) “I want you to take your cock -”

The cellphone sitting on the desk plays a song, the obnoxious pop music ruining the mood. 

“FUCK,” Beelzebub exclaims, as they clamor over to where they set the device. They grab their phone and mumble, “Dagon.” Looking to Gabriel, they say, “I have to take this. If you will excuse me -” they look to the magazines sitting on the table, grabbing one labeled Playgirl and handing to the angel. “I am sure you can entertain yourself.”

They walk to the bathroom before suddenly turning it around. “Here,” they say, snapping their fingers. A bottle of lube appeared in Gabriel’s other hand. “You’ll need this.”

The bathroom door shuts with a click and the conversation happening behind is completely muted to Gabriel, most likely the assistance of a demonic miracle. 

Not knowing when Beelzebub would emerge from the room again, Gabriel decides to thumb through the pornography. Setting the lube bottle aside, he looks inside the magazine. The issue handed to him is filled with human males, all in similar built and toned fashion as to the corporation in which he resides. None of these forms particularly interest him, at least, so he sets the magazine back onto the table. 

There’s another one - Penthouse - which features a fully clothed man covered in tattoos and busty nude woman, his decorated arms placed over her chest and covering the space between her legs. It’s set aside with Playboy. 

The last magazine, looking at the dustiest, is labeled Genesis. 

Gabriel laughs to himself as he picks it up and examines its cover. The magazine is, as Gabriel notes from looking at the corner, is from seven years ago. The woman on the front stands, confident and with heavy-lidded eyes. Her left hip jutted, and her hands are tucked around a garter. Long black hair curtains her naked breasts and bangs splayed on her forehead.

In a way, the model on the cover looks like Beelzebub. Even without the same modifications to their corporation, there is something familiar about the dark hair and the slim body. 

Directly disobeying the demon’s orders, as he stares at the Genesis model, Gabriel’s mind wanders to one of the first times in the Arrangement. All the times before had been in the two of them still mostly clothed, gasping and rutting together in a hurried manner, the lighting of Hell flickering above. All kept in the dark, concealed, and no time for languid admiration. But in that Berlin hotel room that night, the demon laid out on white sheets, no clothes to mask themselves, the archangel could appreciate their body. 

Beelzebub laying there, supine and on display. Their head was held in their hand, cocked to one side, while the other rested below their chest, over their trim and toned waist. It was all he could do not to fall against them and linger against what had been hidden for so long, savoring the details that had been cloaked. 

Suddenly he becomes aware of the blood rushing to his cock.

He groans, remembered how Beelzebub had rolled and spread their legs. How he crawled on top of them, cupping their face and pulling them tight into a kiss as a hand skimmed the length of their body and fingers rolled between the two entities, searching for the demon’s wet heat. How Beelzebub had stifled a gasp as they curled into his shoulder while he teased their entrance. 

His member is throbbing as he is lost in memories that first time, of an exorcism of another kind. The small demon beneath him rolled their head back in ecstasy, meeting his thrusts with rapture. Their hands had wrapped around his neck and skirted upwards to play with a grasp at already tousled hair.

His thoughts pause for a moment for him to grab the lube off the table and coat his hand liberally. 

He rubs his hand over his thigh, tracing sensitive skin, before he takes his hardened prick into hand, vibrating at the thought of how climax had shaken the Prince, sinking deeper into the mattress, gasping as Gabriel murmured sweet nothings into the crock of their neck. 

The door to the bathroom swings open.

Gabriel’s hand falls back into his lap, away from his penis. 

“Sorry about that, it was something about logging my time here and in London,” Beelzebub says, brisking into the room, still looking at the blue glow of their cellphone. A snap of a button and the device is turned off and Gabriel notes that it completely off and not just returned to sleep. “But I’m sure you’ve had something similar happen.”

“Y-yeah,” Gabriel chokes, trying hard to ignore the sudden rush of cold air on his Effort. 

Try as he might have hidden his ministrations, Beelzebub notices. With a proud look, they say, “Well, something clearly has been working for you.” They cross the room and hover over Gabriel, back to their orderly position. “Now tell me, what was it - Playgirl or Penthouse?”

“Uh, Genesis,” Gabriel admits. His cock twitches as he looks up to the Prince of Hell; they always seem to have that effect on him. 

There’s a throaty laugh from Beelzebub. “Supposed that would do it.” They bend at the waist, close enough that Gabriel could lean over and kiss them. “What a bad angel you are, getting a thrill from humans.”

“She reminded me of you,” he huffs because he can’t lie when all he wants to do is take the demon in front of him into his arms.

“Did she now?” Beelzebub drawls. “You know I asked you to pleasure yourself to the girls in the magazine.”

Beelzebub’s reaches across the space between the two celestial beings, ghosting the skin beneath his chin. For a moment, their skin brushes together and Gabriel is desperate for more. “And you disobeyed my orders -” 

“Please -” Left untouched, his cock is begging to be rubbed and Gabriel wants more than anything for Beelzebub to reach down and finish the job for him.

“You’d rather look to me than them?” 

Gabriel nods, obedient. 

There’s a look on Lord Beelzebub’s face. Gabriel cannot place the meaning of it; there are so many ways that he doesn’t understand the demon. They are, after all, the opposition. But there’s something else, something more cryptic about them. And that uncertainty, with the precision and order he usually held in his everyday life, thrilled him.

“Well.” Beelzebub backs off. They cross the room and sit on the plush bed. They kick their shoes off and pull their legs up and beneath them. “You were eager to hear about what I did while I was at the office? I can show you.”

And slowly, Beelzebub peels their dark suit jacket away and tosses it off the side of the bed.

“Uh, it’s been a long day,” Beelzebub huffs. Nimble fingers got to work on the buttons on the white blouse that was hidden underneath the blazer. The garment is sheer enough to reveal that the demon wasn’t wearing any undergarments that some humans typically wore, and their nipples are flushed against the fabric. “Dagon has been harping on me to get my paperwork to her for review and I could use some stress relief - ”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow and says, flatly, “Why are you talking like that?”

“This is how people in pornography talk,” Beelzebub says, then clarifies, “Video pornography.”

“This is silly.” Gabriel pauses, aware of his erect penis. “Do it some more.”

Beelzebub smirks then continues. They reach the final button and push aside the shirt, still covering their nipples but revealing their toned middle. “If only there was some here to help me.”

They roll to their side and shift themselves around. With a guiding hand, they push themselves up so they’re standing on the bed. A button snaps and a hand tugs at a zipper. Beelzebub turns around, grabbing the waistband of their pants and pushing them down slowly, bending slightly forward as fallen fabric reveals their bottom, filling out a pair of (admittingly, alluring) fishnet underwear.

Gabriel takes his cock into his hand - it was demanding to be felt, practically burning for touch - and gasps at the sudden pressure. 

The trousers puddle around Beelzebub’s ankles and with a petite side-step, they’re tossed over the side of the bed. Beelzebub turns around, a puckish glint in their eyes, as they bemoan: “Someone big and strong to pin me down on my desk.”

A shiver is sent up Gabriel’s spine, picturing that same scenario and his cock pulses at the thought of all the times he had taken Beelzebub in their office. He flicks his wrist and runs his hand along his shaft, slow because at first because any faster would be too much. 

The sound of skin of slick skin fills the room as he begins to rub up and down, his eyes focused as Beelzebub’s shirt slithers down their shoulder and falls onto the bed. 

God, they’re such a vision. Gabriel huffs as he eyes Beelzebub’s corporation, pale and slim and divine in its own right. How he wants to fall over them again, fill them with his aching member, ravish them.

The demon prince gets to their knees and tugs at the panties, rolling down their thighs. Fingers dip past thin lips as blue eyes stare at the archangel. Those eyes scrunch in delight as Gabriel groans, hand rolling around his shaft. The digits trace the lips again, down the chin, and rest on their collarbone. “Tearing off my clothes, throwing them about the room. And then pulling me onto their big, thick, long cock.”

Their palm slide between their sternum, down their belly, to the tuft of dark hair above their Effort. Arching their back, they flex their wrist inward, rubbing against their labia. Their breathing hitches as their fingers play at their entrance, a thumb rolling over their clitoris, eyes fluttering shut.

Gabriel is completely hard, warmth spreading throughout his corporation as he watched Beelzebub melt under their own ministrations. “Heaven,” they whisper. “Rutting against me - huh - filling me up and causing me to moan so loud that my secretary can hear - uhh, fuck, - e-every noise I make.”

They’re at complete synchronicity, both of them with their hands rubbing into their Efforts, but Gabriel is so much closer to his climax. Precum is glistening at the tip of his member as he picks up speed. His head falls back as he leans further into his chair. His breath hitches as his strokes become more erratic. 

“And then I, huh, just let go,” Beelzebub says, eyes closed as they concentrate on their own fantasy, fingers rubbing faster against the vulva. They are thrusts against their touch, desperate and aching for more. “Screaming so all of Hell can hear me.”

“Fuck, Beelzebub.” And that’s it. Gabriel is sent over the edge. Seeing stars as he dreams of the demon crying out his name. He rides the wave of orgasm, stiffening with his hand around his cock before he relaxes and falls against the back of the chair, heaving for breath.

He watches as, moments later, Beelzebub works to their own climax with another murmured praise. The demon’s cry is caught on the back of their throat and their head rolls back. They fall forward, trembling and panting. 

As two celestial beings come down from their respective highs, the room heavy with the sounds of them steadying themselves. Beelzebub is the first to speak, “This was not how I was planning this night to go.”

Gabriel croaks, “Wasn’t it better though? Than what you intended?”

“An angel thwarting my plans,” Beelzebub mumbles. “I should have known.”

Gabriel smiles as he miracles away the stickiness of cum on his hand and leg, thankful for his angelic nature making this part so much easier.

He looks to Beelzebub once more, as they pull the panties up over the Effort and run their fingers through their hair. There is something aglow about them as they smile softly to themselves.

He stands up, crossing the distance between them. His knee rests upon the bed as he pulls the demon into his arms and kisses them. Tender, slow, genuine, in a way that they normally don’t express with each other, but for something that is growing with each time they meet.

“What’s that for?” They ask, slow. They could roll their eyes, but they don’t. They’re getting use to this element of The Arrangement.

“Thank you,” Gabriel says, finally. “For this.”


End file.
